Chapter IX: In the Assembly

In the old Palace of the Princes of Orange, that had been the dwelling of the Counts of Holland when the Hague was merely their hunting estate, and now for twenty years the meeting-place for the Government of John de Witt, Their High Mightinesses, the States, were assembled.

The sunshine filled the great chamber, showing the tapestry on the walls, the marble chimney-pieces, the painted ceiling, in the full dazzle of their gorgeous colours.

In the centre, within a space enclosed by a balustrade, sat the nobles and the Deputies of eighteen towns.

At the end of the table at which they sat stood the Grand Pensionary’s chair--empty during a debate for the first time in twenty years.

Behind this chair were the benches, filled by the councillor deputies; next them a table belonging to the Deputies of Haarlem, Delft, Leyden, and Brill.

Opposite were the tables belonging to Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Gouda, Gorcum, Schiedam, and Schoonhoven.

Either side the western fireplace sat the secretaries of the towns, and directly facing them was the raised velvet arm-chair of the Stadtholder.

An air of expectancy and gloom lay over the whole Assembly. The white, anxious faces of the States were in sharp contrast to the peaceful scene visible through the fine tall windows; the sparkling water of the Vyver, the swans sailing round their green islands, the stately avenues of chestnuts and elms beyond.

Every one in the chamber was looking at the Stadtholder.

He stood on the step before his chair and held the dispatches brought him yesterday by Sir Gabriel Sylvius. He wore the habit he had travelled in: cuirass, high boots, dark velvet, and a purple scarf.

He wore his beaver with the long black plume; across his chair were thrown mantle and gloves.

His bright glance swept the silent, agitated faces turned towards him. He opened the dispatches and read the terms of France:--

“Possession of all the towns of the Republic in Brabant and
Flanders--the frontiers of the United Provinces to be withdrawn
as far as the river Leek--this leaving Guelders, Beteuse, and
Loevenstein in the hands of France.

“Overyssel to be given to the Bishop of Munster. Rynberg to be
ceded to the Elector of Cologne. Delfyzl and its dependencies
to be ceded to the King of England.

“Crevecœur, Hertogenbosch, and Maestricht to be handed over to
the French.

“The Catholic religion to be freely allowed in the States.

“The revocation of all edicts hurtful to French commerce.

“The Dutch East and West India companies to submit to the
French companies; a separate treaty on this matter to be
concluded in three months.

“Free passage and passport for any subject of France.

“An indemnity of war, the tribute of 12,000,000 florins.

“A formal embassy to be sent every year to France, to present
the King with a gold medal as token of homage; the motto on it
to be a humble thanksgiving for His Majesty’s mercy in leaving
the United Provinces some liberty.”

William paused, and again looked round the States.

“These are the final terms of France,” he said. “You have heard them before, my lords--they are not softened nor abated, and to them now are added these, which His Majesty of France demands for the King of England.”

Consternation and anguish showed in every face.

The senators of Rotterdam were weeping. Some sat rigid, with clasped hands and fixed eyes; others drooped with hanging heads, bowed by the bitterness of this humiliation.

No one spoke.

The Prince read from the next page--

“This, demanded on behalf of the King of England, in
consideration of the treaty of Heeswyck, whereby the King of
France is resolved to accept no peace if the King of England is
not satisfied with his claims.

“First the salute of the flag, even from an entire Dutch fleet
to a single British vessel.

“Satisfaction in Surinam.

“The extradition of political refugees.

“1,000,000 pounds for the expenses of the war, 400,000 in the
following October, the remainder in six annual instalments of
100,000.

“A rent of 100,000 pounds for the herring fishery.

“The sovereignty of the remaining portion of the United
Provinces for the Prince of Orange, as reigning and hereditary
King.

“A new treaty of commerce, relative to the Indies.

“The surrender of Sluys, Walcheren, Cadzant, Goree, and Voorne
as guarantee.”

The Stadtholder raised his head and once more surveyed the Assembly.

“My name is mentioned here--not my friends but my enemies desire for me this infamous honour.… France and England have had my answer--what do _you_ say, my lords?”

He sat down, still looking at them, grave, reserved, and stern.

The States remained dumb and helpless; they dare not decide. The utter bitterness and hopelessness of their situation robbed them of their courage and their resolution. They felt themselves already slaves; they saw their country already a province of France. They were mute, and in most eyes the tears glittered.

Gaspard Fagel rose. He pressed for the opinion of His Highness.… The States flung themselves on the wisdom and valour of His Highness … the people had elected him to be their Captain and guide.

“Most noble lords,” answered the Stadtholder, “your decision is required.”

They joined in persuading him to give his advice; they turned to him desperately as the one spark of hope in all the black prospect.

He rose again.

The sun was streaming through the window at his side, and made a star in his cuirass; the little silver-gilt chains round his ankles, that held his spurs over the soft riding-boots, gave a pleasant clink as he moved.

He held his left hand on the great basket-work hilt of his sword, and his right on the scarf across his breast.

“Your Noble Mightinesses ask for my advice. I will say to you what I know you all have in your hearts.

“There is but one answer to these terms--the coldest, most contemptuous refusal.

“Who but an abject wretch would subscribe to such conditions while he had breath in his body?

“By Heaven! I would rather be torn to pieces than consent to any such humiliation and shame.”

A stir ran through the Assembly.

“I do not despair,” continued the Stadtholder passionately. “Though we seem reduced to desperate extremity, yet is our case not hopeless if we make our answer to France sword in hand.… To die honourably is better than a miserable safety.… It is not possible for us to be the slaves of France. My lords, you will reject these shameful conditions.”

They sat mute. They had placed their fortunes between his hands; he was the master of their destiny--the destiny of the United Provinces.

Most of them were learned men of much experience who had been long in office; all of them were older than the man they looked to, by many years.

He and they could remember when he was a mere name in the State, the prisoner of Their Noble Mightinesses. Some of them had slighted, all ignored him.

Yet now this young man’s voice, calm, decisive above the tumult and the anguish, swayed them all. They caught desperately at his words, and trusted themselves to the power of his dominant will.

For he alone stood resolute and undaunted before such dire straits as could cause the guardians of the State to weep aloud.

He spoke again. If he had been schooled to silence all his life he did not lack expression now, nor a natural eloquence and passionate force.

Some of the fire that animated him crept into his listeners’ hearts; they could not listen to him and still despair.

“Are ye afraid of war? What greater ills can it bring than this peace that makes us slaves?

“Is your trust in God so little that ye fear He will forsake us?

“This is not our downfall, but rather the downfall of the French. They, intoxicated with success, have refused the concessions we made them; and now they shall have no concessions, but lose all they ever gained.

“We have still enough men to defend the frontiers of Holland; Spain and Brandenburg hasten to our aid.

“Break off these negotiations, my lords! They degrade us and dishearten our allies. Shall we feed the pride of France by considering these high mounting terms?

“By my honour, there is nothing I would not rather do than subscribe to such a peace as this offered us!

“Sooner would I be an exile at the Elector’s court, dependent on his bounty, than be a King at the instance of France.

“My lords, I have no fear that I shall fail. God, who set apart Samson and raised up Gideon to smite the Midianitish host, will strengthen me.

“Even if the country goes--even if we lose the United Provinces--our Faith is stronger than our country and may survive it. If we are the only people in Europe true to the pure Church, still may we save her from the tyranny and corruption of the enemy. There is another land, a wider continent, where we may worship in peace and live unmolested; where we may raise another Amsterdam as rich as this. As we have built our cities here on land reclaimed from the sea, so may we build others there in the wilderness.

“My noble lords, in your ports is shipping sufficient to carry two hundred thousand people to our colonies.

“In the Indian Archipelago we may rear other churches in which the Mass will never be heard, and found another commonwealth in which liberty will be secure.

“Even if we are driven from Europe, in Asia we may still seek a refuge. This were better than submission; but first, there is one ally to whom we may turn for aid.”

He paused, breathing a little hurriedly, and flung off his hat as if it irked him.

His composed, inspired, and courageous face was fully visible now to the States gazing at him. His eyes clear, bright and unflinching as an eagle’s, took in the Assembly at a glance.

No one wept now.

Enthusiasm rose high, swelled, and gathered. They began to forget that they had ever despaired. The weakest was braced by inward fire, the throb of pride, the uplift of patriotism and piety.

The Prince smiled.

“One ally,” he repeated, “who saved us once before.”

He loosened his grip on his sword, and the gilt steel slipped with a rattle.

“The sea,” he said, “the sea!”

A sound like a muffled sob broke from the Assembly.

Some of the Deputies rose to their feet.

M. Beuningen hid his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook.

“My noble lords,” said the Stadtholder, “we can open the dykes.”

The burgomaster of the famous city of Amsterdam held out his hand.

“I will answer for Amsterdam, Your Highness!”

“You know what it will mean,” returned the Prince. “Ruin to many--villas, farms, pleasure gardens buried beneath the water--a sacrifice! I ask no light thing of you--but is it not better than foreign dominion?”

“We will set the example,” cried the burgomaster of Amsterdam.

The Deputies of Rotterdam and Gouda spoke in voices dry and choked--

“Our vote for that--rejection of the terms of France--and cut the dykes!”

William coloured brightly.

“Our troops are within the province of Holland, which will be turned into an island; but many of the enemy are on low ground, and nothing but a swift retreat will save them--they do not suspect us of this desperate course and will be utterly unprepared. I have the reports of the superintendents of the dykes.… A complete inundation would take five days,… When King Louis receives our refusal of his terms he will march immediately on Amsterdam and the Hague--and I see no way but to perish or open the sluices.”

He stooped and pulled some papers from the pocket of his mantle.

“M. de Witt suggested this at the beginning of the war as a possible resort--he had instructions drawn up and reports made--we thank his foresight that there is much done. There must be no delay now.

“I know the objections; what many of the magistrates will say. The hay stands, the corn is uncut, the cattle will starve without pasturage, the waters becoming foul may cause the plague--I have thought of it all.

“But there is no other way.

“Better be at the mercy of the sea than at the mercy of the French.

“This price we must pay for our liberty.”

“My noble lords, I leave you to deliberate on what I have said. As you are patriots and believers, you will sacrifice yourselves to your fatherland and your faith, than which no nobler things to die for can be found.”

The dusky-coloured sunlight rested on his face and covered his slight figure in its appointments of war; it picked him out against the background of dark panelling and gleamed dimly in his cuirass.

His eyes were solemn but his lips smiled proudly.

The Assembly stirred and breathed--

“Open the sluices; cut the dykes!”